


coats of a different color

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cops and Criminals, Dany is basically an FBI agent, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Jon is maybe a criminal, Modern Westeros, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, because why not, jon has tattoos, shit i write, sort of a one-shot as in only has two chapters because it was so long, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen worked alone, a result of being betrayed by her partner Jon Snow when he turned criminal; now he's returned and she's sent on his trail.  But in the end who is playing who?Two-part fic.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 52
Kudos: 483





	1. the wolf changes his coat but not his disposition

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. Started writing it and couldn't stop. I think I tried to have it be one thing and then it changed like 20 times as I wrote. Chapter two is in the works.

_**A wolf is no less a wolf because he's dressed in sheepskin** _

_**and the devil is no less the devil because he's dressed as an angel.** _

_**-Lecrae** _

Dany knew what they said about her behind her back. She was no stranger to rumors; she’d dealt with them her entire life. It was practically second nature to believe someone was speaking about her behind her back, calling out her hair as fake, her eyes were contacts, her body was too curvy for her height, her breasts were too small. There were some who didn’t bother with the insults about her looks, choosing to wonder that she got her job by fucking with the brass. She was a pity acceptance into the academy, she only got it because of her family, and oh yes, there was her family.

They were criminals, corrupt, and guilty of everything they had ever been accused of, from money laundering to murder-for-hire to arson. Some even said they were into the occult, they derived their abilities at escaping just about anything to being witches, warlocks, blood mages, gods only knew what they could come up with these days. She really enjoyed the rumors that they could turn into dragons.

Her thumb rubbed the tattoo on her inner left wrist, the three little black dragons inked there, something she’d done when she’d been in university, but it had become a comforting technique for her when things seemed to get out of control. It anchored her to the present. Reminded her she was a dragon; she was strong and brave and in control of everything. Be it her career, her emotions, or her destiny.

So, she rubbed the dragons, sitting back in her car, knees drawn up and sucking down the last dregs of her cheap gas station coffee. It was the middle of the night. The car engine had been off for some time, the freezing cold not bothering her too much—her blood ran hot like a dragon’s after all. Soft puffs of breath escaped her, over the top of her black scarf, wrapped tight around her neck.

It had been her idea to have the stakeout in the middle of winter in the North. It had been her idea to send everyone home when the complaining on the radios got to be too much. They spoke about her without bothering to check their microphones. She had had enough of it. Slynt had been the worst, the words coming out of his mouth about the possible color of her pussy hair and whether she was fucking Chief Baratheon to get this plum assignment. She could file gods knew how many harassment charges against him, but she had other ways of dealing with Slynt.

All the talk behind her back was by she didn’t have a partner. She didn’t want to deal with anyone anyway, she was better off alone. She riffled one-handed in the passenger side for her binoculars, not taking her eyes off the warehouse entrance gate. There was movement in the darkness. She lifted the binoculars up, peering through them and focusing, murmuring. “There you are.”

Once she had the focus on the black SUV that had just pulled into the vacant warehouse’s loading docks, she took the camera. It wasn’t as good as the cameras they had on some of the other squads, but it would do. She zoomed in with the telescopic lens, snapping pictures, chuckling in happiness that she had both Tormund Giantsbane and Val Rayder at the scene.

The massive Giantsbane didn’t even bother with anything to cover his flaming red hair, opening up the back of the SUV and began to hand black cases to the beautiful woman they called the “wildling princess.” She carried them into the warehouse, which Dany couldn’t quite see from her position.

“Fuck,” she murmured, trying to get a decent angle to see inside. There were others bustling around, taking the weapons from the SUV. If her hunch was correct, they were the weapons the group had just brought from their headquarters in Hardhome, Beyond-the-Wall. They were stocking up for something. _Big buy? Who would buy from them in bulk like this?_

She dropped the camera into her lap, snagging her notebook and scribbling her observations and timing of each one. They were planning something. _The Free Folk._ Nice little name for a gang that had escalated from weapons smuggling and car theft to sabotaging Northern settlements and appearing on terrorist bulletins. They had moved from criminal organization in the morning briefings to homegrown terrorist organization. Especially when one of their little forays into explosives had injured several Northern politicians at an event the previous month.

As one of the only agents with the Westerosi Bureau of Investigation who had firsthand experience with the Free Folk, from her time in the North Field Office straight out of the academy, Daenerys Targaryen took this case with reluctant pride. She was known for her work ethic, she did not sleep when she had an active investigation on her desk, and her empathy with victims coupled with her viciousness and need for revenge had earned her the nickname _Mother of Dragons._ Her time in Essos as a social worker before she joined the WBI had also earned her the nickname _Breaker of Chains._

She wore them proudly; they were testaments to her experiences, and she stood behind those experiences. She got her job the old-fashioned way. She fought against the bigotry and the sexism inherent in Westeros, even in modern times, and especially within the WBI. The City Watch was the worst, but even the WBI’s morose Director Stannis Baratheon couldn’t stop the nastiness that existed when they hired the likes of Janos Slynt or Alliser Thorne. Her boss Brienne Tarth was one of the only women who had managed to get to her position as the head of an entire field office and the Crownlands one at that— she was the only one Dany trust in her job. The only one who understood what she went through.

And she was the only one who didn’t hold what happened in the North Field Office, which necessitated her transfer south, against her. It seemed they all had their opinions, she mused, watching the criminals in front of her. No one in the office, no one in the WBI knew what she’d experienced in the North. They could all talk about it all they wanted. No one would know what it was like. No one else had watched their partner marched out of the office in handcuffs, accused of being involved in attempting to subvert the government, aiding a criminal organization, and ultimately thrown in the same prison as Mance Rayder and his gang. Just before they staged an elaborate break at the Wall and escaped to start their newfound reign of terror.

She shifted in her seat, remembering those days. It had been hard enough to be Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of the Mad King, corrupt political family and all. It was something else when you were also linked with a corrupt WBI agent, bastard son of a prominent Northern family, who turned his coat and abandoned not just their ideals but the ideals of the government he’d sworn to protect. She blew out a hard breath. “Fucking Northerners.”

The cold ate into her bones, rendered her almost motionless, and yet for these hardy Northerners it was nothing to them. They shouted about, laughing and teasing, engaging in criminal activities was nothing to them. She lifted her camera again at sudden movement from the driver’s side of the SUV. _I didn’t know anyone was in there._ She zoomed in as far as the camera would go, her breath catching in her throat.

Her index finger depressed quickly, shooting frames faster than she could focus the camera. _What the ever-loving fuck was he doing here?!_ The last reports said that he was with Free Folk’s leader Rayder at Eastwatch. For him to have moved inward, practically to Winterfell… _what were they planning?_

The darkness did nothing to hide the pale skin exposed to the elements when he shrugged off his coat, trading it out for another. The dim lights from inside the warehouse shadowed him, but she knew exactly who it was. Not as tall as most of the men, but strong and lithe. He wore a shoulder holster over his back shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He shook out his coat, speaking with Giantsbane. His dark hair was tugged into a bun at the base of his neck. The camera snapped as much as she could, trying to get his face into the shot, but the tattoos that covered his right arm were enough identification.

She didn’t need to check the images to see what the tattoos depicted. Wolves running up the inside of his forearm, a red series of weirwood leaves along the back of his arm. Mountains, snowflakes, and words written in the Old Tongue runes, which she knew traced around his wrist and wove through the images. _The North Remembers._ There was another on the inside of his index finger. Trigger finger. She couldn’t see it now, but she knew what it said.

“Winter is coming,” she murmured, setting the camera aside and taking a deep breath, quelling the blood pumping hot and fast through her veins. The twitch of desire in the pit of her stomach shot further south when he turned from the SUV. She did not move; her position was in the shadows and she knew she couldn’t be seen.

Except he could see her; he could sense her.

They called him the White Wolf, throughout his time in the military. Throughout his time as an elite member of a ranger force called the Night’s Watch. Throughout even his time as an agent in the WBI. He was sullen, dark, mysterious, and his gray eyes as sharp as the red ones of the wolf he kept as his _companion_. Never a pet, never refer to the wolf as a pet. She remembered those eyes. The red ones of the wolf, staring through her the first time she’d met him.

The gray ones of his owner, boring through to her soul. She remembered the fingers. It had been so long, but yes, she remembered those long fingers stroking across her skin, tangling in her hair, and gripping her body close, never letting go. He could see things, almost before they happened, it was what made him a good military man, a good ranger, and a good agent.

It was what made him a master criminal.

Even without the binoculars or the camera, she could see his nose wrinkling, the wolf catching the scent. The gray eyes peering into the darkness, straight towards where she’d hidden her car, dark and blended in the shadows, but he could sense. She smiled to herself, tapping her fingers against her lips, pursed into a pout of irritation.

Remembered his full, soft ones against them.

Her fingers went to the ring she kept on a chain around her neck, twisting the silver and sapphire around, trying not to think too hard about what it would mean for her.

Jon Snow had returned.

\----------

“Give me an update from your surveillance run last week in the North, I have to brief Director Baratheon on this case in an hour.” Brienne sipped her mug of coffee, making a face and coughing. “Gods that’s atrocious! Podrick!”

Her assistant popped his head into her office. “Yes ma’am?”

“I do not know what they did in the cafeteria with the coffee, could you please go get me another from the place across the street?” She rummaged in her attaché case and emerged with a couple silvers, passing them over to her assistant who nodded smartly. “Thank you Pod, when you get back, I’ll need to make sure we have copies of all the briefing materials for the Director.” She muttered under her breath. “Baratheon loves his triplicate.”

Even Dany rolled her eyes; Stannis Baratheon was very in the weeds, for someone who was in charge of the entire bureau, spanning its seven field offices and multiple satellite offices. She sipped her travel mug of coffee; it was not the atrocious swill Brienne had clearly sipped, for she made it that morning in the confines of her apartment. “You’ll see from my surveillance photos that Jon Snow has returned.”

“Are we sure this is him?” Brienne asked. Her bright blue eyes wracked with concern beneath her furrowed brow. It would be quite the development. She studied the photos, gaze sharp. “It’s quite dark.”

Dany knew the news Jon was farther in the North than he had been in the past, especially with news they’d received from one of their sources that there had been some ongoing power struggles among the Free Folk. Many were not happy about Rayder’s move towards violence, they were content with following the White Wolf. “I understand the atmosphere is not the best lighting, but it is him.” She took a deep breath. “I recognize the tattoos.”

“Yes,” Brienne said. She pointed to one with the zoom in on his arm. “These are different from the last ones we have of him.”

She nodded. “There’s a new one. The color enhancement shows a new one between the wolf and the weirwood tree.” Her heartbeat sped up. An uncomfortable warmth spread from beneath her navel and lower. She crossed her legs, hoping to stem the pressure. “Ah…it’s a red dragon.”

That had Brienne’s eyes widening, shooting straight towards the photo again. “A dragon? Do we believe he’s aligning himself with…” She trailed off. Her face set into a frown, concerned, peering up at her. “With your…” Her pale cheeks flushed. “Ah…”

Brienne was never really caught off guard, she held herself with the utmost professionalism. Dany saved her the embarrassment, answering the question. “I do not know why he has the red dragon tattoo, but there is no reason to believe he has aligned himself with my brother’s organization.” Viserys was active overseas in Essos. How he hadn’t been killed yet for pissing off some Dothraki khal or whatever, she didn’t know. She took a deep breath. “Ser, I know what this looks like…”

“It looks like your former partner, who was arrested for a variety of crimes, to include stealing government secrets and affiliating with a criminal organization, who escaped confinement after his initial arrest and has been active Beyond-the-Wall, has returned to the North, just at the same time as a major political election between a Northern nationalist and a free folk sympathizer,” Brienne droned. She arched her brows. “Let’s not forget the Northern nationalist is his sister.”

“Raised as his sister, they’re actually cousins.”

Brienne took another deep breath, leaning back in her seat and steepling her fingertips. “I do not need to tell you that Mance Rayder is at the top of Director Baratheon’s agenda. It is an embarrassment that he managed to get an operative into the government for gods knows how long, he routinely shames Director Baratheon in his propaganda, and denounces all gods but the ones in the North.”

That was not a crime, but she knew that Stannis Baratheon was very touchy about his affiliation with the Red God of Rh’llor, whereas most everyone in the Seven Kingdoms followed the Seven. Rayder liked to mock Director Baratheon about it when he would go out and give speeches speaking of how they had to stop the threat of the Free Folk. If they sparked a revolution in the North, gods knew what other provinces might want to rebel. Dorne was always a touchy topic. The Iron Islands routinely campaigned for separatism, but all the bills in Parliament fell.

She was not interested in the politics of everything the way that the Director was. She wanted bad guys in jail. It was why she’d become a cop. She knew Rayder and the Free Folk were touchy topics. “And what will you have me do about that?” she murmured. _I already know the answer._

Brienne arched a slim blonde brow. “You are the WBI’s expert on Jon Snow.”

 _Not by choice._ Her eyes narrowed; wary. “Yes.”

“Come with me to the briefing.”

So, she went to the briefing, an hour later, in the Director’s office across the street, and they weren’t alone. Principal advisor to the Prime Minister, the lazy ass Robert Baratheon, known as “Bobby B” amongst all his supporters who enjoyed his fraternity brother behavior, Lord Tyrion Lannister, stood at the side of Stannis Baratheon, dour as ever.

Brienne briefed him, Tyrion had endless questions of course, and she remained quiet. Until Baratheon turned to her. “You will be the one to arrest him,” he stated. He followed up. “And get Mance Rayder too. Preferably before Snow. At least Snow doesn’t humiliate elected officials in his quest for more power over the masses.”

 _No, Jon just enjoys humiliating them in private._ She frowned. "Sir you are aware of my...past relationship with Jon Snow?" _Relationship_ was probably not the best term to use, but it was what it was. She studied Stannis's vacant expression. The man was entirely unreadable. She kept her face equally impassive, a stare-off of sorts. They could of course order her to go, she would follow the order. It would be something that Stannis would have to account for if things when bad. Which they would, when it concerned her and Jon Snow.

The director finally broke first, tearing his empty gaze from her and leaning forward in his chair. "I am well aware which is why you need to be the one to go up there. You know him better."

"Some would say too well," Tyrion Lannister said, from his position beside the Director. He scowled over to her. "You worked with him for two years and not once did you realize he was a double agent?"

The skin on the back of her neck prickled. "Jon Snow is an expert that hiding his emotions," she said. She shifted uncomfortably. It was not a topic she enjoyed discussing. Nor was it one they would ever truly understand. You had to know Jon Snow, you had to know his background and his upbringing to fully understand how deep he could hide his true feelings. Even then, no one truly knew him. It was how he wanted it, so it was how it would be. She was the only one who had ever remotely gotten close. She smirked at the politico. "Double agent is a bit of a strong word. He never sabotaged the WBI. He just didn't owe full allegiance to it, preferring the Free Folk."

"Double agent," Tyrion repeated.

"So says the man who willingly usurped his father's rule as Prime Minister."

Brienne was the first to warn her. "Targaryen."

Tyrion's lips twitched; almost a smile. "Touché."

She smirked again, glancing at Stannis. "I'll go to the North, but they know me there. They close ranks faster than anyone I have ever met. You think Jon Snow didn't owe allegiance to the WBI because he was too busy supporting the Free Folk? That's nothing. We're talking about an entire region that does not trust anyone beyond The Neck No one is going to speak to me."

"Davos Seaworth is the Agent in Charge of the North Field Office, work with him, he'll get you what you need." The finality in Stannis's tone signaled the end of their conversation. It was official then. She was returning North. For longer than a simple stakeout. She sighed, nodding and he glanced up again, waving his hand. "Dismissed Targaryen>" He glanced at Tyrion. "And you too Lannister."

They all left, Brienne staying behind to discuss other case matters. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled at the notion she would be going back there for a significant period of time. Going back into the office, working with Davos again. Davos and Jon had had a good relationship; he'd been cleared, just like her, of any wrongdoing when Jon had been arrested. His prison escape with the other Free Folk had been because he knew everyone there; they sympathized with their Northern comrade. He'd talked his way out of it, taken everyone with him, and the prison had been closed as a result.

She heard Tyrion's heavy uneven steps behind her, pausing in the corridor. "What?"

"This is not the Hand of the Prime Minister speaking," he began.

She rolled her eyes. _Yeah right._ "You think this is a mistake?" She glowered at him. Tyrion may not have been involved in the overthrow of her family from power or the subsequent investigation, but his family was. There was no love lost between the Lannisters and the Targaryens. She was not interested in the support Tyrion might have had for his brother-in-law. Robert Baratheon was a waste of space, more interested in the trappings of wealth that came with his office than actually running the country. Tyrion was the real brains behind it all. Didn't help that his sister was also there, as maniacal as she could be.

He narrowed his eyes on her, still unsure. "My sources tell me you were just as surprised when Snow was arrested. I guess you didn't know him that well after all."

"Guess I didn't," she whispered.

"We all have our secrets I imagine."

"And mine will stay that way. Good day Lord Tyrion." She stormed away, making a fast track to her desk and gathering the files she would need, shoving them into her tote. While she worked, she smelled Slynt before she could hear him, scowling. "Go away Slynt."

He sneered. "Plum assignment again as usual. Tell me, you get it by fucking Baratheon too?"

"Fuck off."

"Or are you going to go back up to the North and find your boyfriend? You're as dirty as he is, fucking silver cunt Targaryen and the Black Bastard of Winterfell, you two are well suited." It wasn't the first time they'd said such things. Wouldn't be the last. The fire inside of her remained a steady simmer. She continued to ignore him, logging off her computer and reaching for her tote bag. It seemed her ignoring Slynt didn't sit well with him and he reached to grab her wrist, sneering again, his breath smelling like the bottom of a garbage pile. "Snow seems to like them exotic bitches, first it was that wildling he got killed in that raid and then it was you, tell me, does he fuck you like wolves do their bitches or is that just what I hear, because if I find out you..."

He didn't have time to get the threat out before she had yanked his arm around and flipped it over her head, snapping his shoulder straight from its socket. He yowled, falling to the floor with a heavy crash, right on the dislocated shoulder, where he screamed in pain, kicking against her as she stomped her boot straight in his groin. She leaned down, smiling long and slow. "You better watch your mouth Slynt; you don't want to wake the dragon."

"You fucking bitch! I'll report you for this! Assault!"

"No one saw anything." She shot them all looks, the dragon raging behind her violet irises. The other agents present immediately shook their heads. She grinned down at him. "You just fell funny I guess." She leaned even further, hissing. "You say one more word about me fucking Jon Snow and it will be the last thing you say about me ever again. Gott it?" She didn't wait for his nod before letting her boot off of him. She slung the tote over her shoulder and stormed from the bullpen.

She stalked to the elevator, thumbs rapidly working on her phone, sending a message to one of her sources up in the North. It would be risky to meet, but she figured she'd be able to do it. _I'm in need with some sewing help. I have a snow-white wedding dress that has to be fixed. Can I meet you at the place where we met last time? Desperate! Wedding day is in a few days and need alterations fast!_

The phone buzzed as she climbed into her car and she checked it, smiling. _Snow is a bit light right now so not many weddings. I'll have time for the alterations. Same place. ~Needle~_

Dany tossed her phone into her tote and started up the car. She had to go home, back, get her three cats— her children she called them—situated with her best friend and neighbor Missandei for the next few weeks, and then the first stop she had in the North was to meet with the only other person in the world who knew Jon Snow as well as she did.

His sister.

\----------

They met in an old warehouse, abandoned like many of them, in the North. She drove her rental car in first, parked it, and climbed out, walking towards the rickety elevator and took it up to the top floor. She always arrived second; gave her contact the air of comfort, she supposed. She kept her hands in her pockets, but her gun was clear on her hip.

She meandered slowly towards the small figure leaning against the exposed iron frame of the crumbling brick building. “Needle,” she called, using the codename for one Arya Stark, cousin and sister—in name—to one Jon Snow. She kept her hand by her gun, just in case Arya decided she wanted to play sides.

“Dragon,” Arya greeted. They squared off against each other for a few minutes, before Arya smirked. “You came North at an interesting time.”

“Jon returned, that’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Hmm.” Arya shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. She was tiny, smaller even than Dany which was saying something. Except Dany knew that she could kill her with one flick of her wrist. She was deadly, a trained killer. She also knew every single dark element underneath the surface of the North. She glanced out again at the murky sky, thick clouds about to dump snow, the sun hidden for the foreseeable future. “There’s talk Jon came south because there’s a power play. Mance is too violent, he’s starting to care more about his position than he is about the goals of the organization. He’s planning something at the rally for my sister.”

Sansa Stark was having a rally for her campaign in a few days. She nodded. “Anything else?”

“They want Jon in charge.”

 _He is not going to like that at all._ She swallowed, keeping her face a mask. “What exactly are they planning?”

“Not sure, you know I don’t have that type of insight.” The smaller woman smiled again. “I think he’d like to see you; you know.”

The thud of her heart intensified. The weight of the ring on her neck burned into her chest. She barely smiled. Kept her hands as fists in her pockets. “Yes, well he might like that, but he probably won’t get it.”

“Just saying.”

“So, you said.”

Arya walked by her, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else, but I’d talk to him if I were you. He might have some more to say.”

Dany gazed out the open space, ignoring the chill running down her spine, the feeling she was still being watched. She knew it wasn’t Arya. She closed her eyes briefly and after a moment, opened them, staring straight down at the SUV that had crept into the warehouse parking, abandoned. The small woman who had just left darted across and leaped gracefully into the SUV. It didn’t peel out as fast as it probably would have.

She kept her eyes on it, staring, and the driver’s window rolled down, a set of gray eyes peering out and up at her. She didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t even breathe. _He can see me._

Jon Snow sent her a long, slow, wolfish smile, before he rolled the tinted window back up and the SUV squealed as it spun out of the parking.

_Well now he knows._

She turned away. She’d let him make the next move.

\----------

The following evening, she went into a bar.

It was called _The Night’s Watch_ which she found amusing, because maybe back in the day when her ancestors rode dragons and there were ice zombies to protect the world from, the Night’s Watch was a significant part of the Northern mythology and lore. Now it was just another part of the Westerosi military, just with a few odd rules and even more secrecy.

She strode in, not bothering to hide her silver braids beneath a cap, keeping her red parka on and open to show the gun at her hip, along with the badge, and marched through the ground. It parted instantly, all of them gaping at her, and she smirked, sidling to the bar. She tapped on it with her nails; loudly. “Hey Tormund.”

The Free Folk member who she’d often seen through the lens of her camera, but occasionally in person, turned from where he was filling a draft glass, roaring in laughter. “Dragon Queen! What brings you to this fine establishment?”

“I want to talk to Jon Snow.”

The bar went silent. She kept smiling. You could almost hear a pin drop. The Northmen gaped, some outright disdainful. One even spit on the floor. She was used to it. Northerners never liked Southerners, especially a Targaryen. Her father’s rule hadn’t done them any favors. They’d suffered terribly under him. _Well I’m not my father._ She kept her gaze on Tormund, who filled the glass, unperturbed by her request.

He finished with the glass, setting it on the counter next to the man who ordered it. He slammed his hand on the oak bar, shouting over the quiet. “The fuck? You all never heard a lady ask after Snow? Guy’s such a pretty fucker they all ask about him, carry on!” He grinned at her, leaning on the counter and waggled his bushy red brows. “You like danger Dragon Queen?”

“You know I do,” she purred.

“Hmm, playing with fire you are.”

“They call me the Unburnt.” She leaned over and picked up a shot glass. Tormund turned, taking one of the fire whiskeys from the top shelf, pouring her one. She lifted the glass of brown liquid, grinned, and tossed it back.

The red head flinched, but she did nothing. He shook his head. “You are fire Dragon Queen.”

“And I’m looking for my ice.”

“That’s gonna’ cost you a few dragons, ain’t cheap.”

She turned away from the bar, her mark made, and called over her shoulder, striding out confidently. “Put it on Snow’s tab.”

The doors burst open into the snowy evening, her skin hot from the shot of whiskey and her temper raging, needing to get into a fight. She was pleased when she saw the several Northerners approaching her, their fingers itching at their sides. She glanced at each one in turn and held out her hands, echoing sweetly. “I surrender.”

They bound her hands, dropped a hood on her head, and bundled her into a van. _Really Jon, this level of cloak and dagger?_ She sighed under the hood. The van started, after someone rumbled in next to her in the backseat. She didn’t need to see to know who it was. Her voice muffled under the cotton hood. “Tormund, is this necessary?”

“Boss’s orders Dragon Queen.”

“He’s been watching too many spy movies,” she huffed, settling back into the seat and knocking her head against the headrest, closing her eyes despite the fact there was a hood over them.

The driver began to sing to the radio and Tormund told him to shut the fuck up.

She heard the passenger door open; someone else climbed in. Said nothing. No one else said anything. She smiled; glad no one could see her. There was only one person in the world who was as quiet as that.

And besides, she could smell him. He might be the wolf, but she was the dragon.

She always knew when her prey was near.

\----------

They muscled her from the van and across a patch of old snow-- she could hear the crunching of the rain that must have fallen over the old slush, freezing over it, beneath the soles of her boots-- through a corridor that had a leak in one of the pipes judging from the steady drip she heard to her left, and into a cavernous room. Their voices echoed as they muttered to each other.

"What's his game with this one, you think?" a somewhat young voice asked. Whoever owned it was trying to be quiet, but she smirked beneath the hood. In the echoing chamber of what she assumed was another one of the North's vast choices of empty warehouses, it sounded more like a shout.

If it was anyone other than Tormund with him, perhaps she might have gotten some more, but the longtime Free Folk member cursed beneath his breath, smacked the kid by the sound of thumping against a shoulder, and replied. "Not in front of her you fucking twat."

"I can hear you, you know," she called.

The hood came off quickly, her braids snagging on the rough woolen fabric. She blew some strands of the mussed hair out of her eyes, blinking them rapidly to adjust to the bright light shining down over her. Her eyes instantly darted from side to side, taking in her surroundings. She was in fact in a warehouse, smaller than she judged, but it had high ceilings. A few lamps were standing, bulbs bare, and she zeroed in on a couple of barrels in the corner. They were the newest of the dusty boxes and crates that otherwise filled the space. Heavy industrial plastic. A couple covered in tarps.

She barely caught the edge of a massive bag of plant fertilizer hiding behind one. _Fuck. Explosives._

"Boss will be here soon," the younger member said. He looked like a child. She supposed Mance was starting them young. He scowled at her. "You don’t look like a dragon."

She grinned, wicked, and Tormund laughed from behind her. "Oh, be careful, this one breathes fire!" he guffawed, slapping her shoulder, knocking her further back in the chair. They'd tied her wrists back and her ankles, which she knew was at the order of their _boss._ He of all people knew how quick she could get out of restraints.

The kid cocked his head. "Really?"

"Yeah, want to see?" she teased. She glanced at a couple other more silent members. They were holding rifles. She tsked. "Oh, you guys, I feel so scared with those. I suppose I should be flattered, all of you for little ole' me." She cocked her head, watching as Tormund walked around to stand in front of her, arms crossing. His blue eyes glinted mischievously in the light overhead. "Or is it that your _boss_ is afraid of me? Mance should be scared. We have him dead to rights on all his crimes."

"Not Mance," Tormund said with another smile. He cocked his head again. "You walked into my bar; you were asking for it to snow."

Her skin prickled in anticipation. "That's what I was counting on," she murmured, not breaking her gaze from Tormund's.

The feel of fingertips on her shoulder should have startled her. They would have anyone, but the only notice she gave that she sensed him was the almost imperceptible twitch of her head, her eyes cast down, following his silent movements from around her back and to the side, until he was in front of her. She finally lifted her eyes, taking him in bit by bit. He was always as silent as a ghost.

From the soles of his boots to the top of his curly head, he was in all black. Black jeans that molded to his perfectly sculpted ass-- she tried not to look too long as he turned away and walked towards a chair that one of the men had set in front of her. He sank back into it and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. His arms folded in front of him, black long-sleeved shirt tugging at his muscles; she could see the outline of his biceps and the barest curve of his pecs under the tight material. His gray eyes were almost black, staring straight into hers, and his dark curls were tugged into a bun at the nape of his neck. His beard was trimmed, but fuller than when she'd last been this close to him.

There was a hint of a silver chain around his neck, the small outline of a ring hanging off it. The only adornment he ever wore, she knew, his brother's wedding band. Memories, she remembered him saying once. She smirked, nodding towards his arms. "You covered up the new tat. Guess you can't live without me, need a dragon to remind you?"

He barely smiled, but she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle, just a bit. She considered it a win. "Lost a bet," he murmured.

"Hmm, any other new ones I should be aware of?"

"None that you need to see right now."

She sighed, dramatic. "What are you doing Jon?"

"You were the one who asked for me."

"I didn't ask for you. I went to a bar for a drink."

"Yeah, she put it on your tab, you owe me three dragons Crow," Tormund piped up.

He sent his deputy an irritated glance, before returning attention to her. He was curious, always curious, and quiet. She smiled again and he returned it, a little wider this time. "What's a southern girl doing in a place like this?"

She tilted her head. "Place like what?"

"The North."

"Beats me, I was doing fine working some smuggling cases down south until they told me to do a surveillance run up here." She arched her brows. "And a bit of Snow came down from beyond the Wall. You understand why they sent me of course."

"Of course."

"Long time, no see Jon."

Jon smiled even wider now, this time his lips pulling over his teeth. He chuckled. "Been a while Dany."

Her skin went hot, prickling with desire, and she distinctly felt the blood begin to rush through her, pooling uncomfortably between her legs. She couldn't cross them to stave off the building pressure. Her heart thudded against her ribs, so loud she feared he might hear it. _He was a wolf after all._ He leaned forward, leg dropping off his knee, and she noticed the black in his eyes, his pupils blowing out the gray rings surrounding them. He licked his lips, so fast she was the only one who could see. He tapped his fingertips together. She hitched her breath, setting a muscle in her jaw to try to steady herself.

It was always like this between them; they'd started off as partners and it had been purely professional. He was awkward as fuck, something she had figured out quickly. He had no idea the effect he had on others. Men and women combined. Men wanted to follow him, and women wanted to fuck him. She had been lucky enough to do both. And he'd been lucky enough to do the same with her.

She nodded to the containers in the corner. "What's with the barrels?"

"Never you mind."

"You guys going to hit the Northern rally in a few days?"

He pursed his lips. "Why would we bother with that?"

 _Maybe try a different tactic._ “You humiliated me when you turned double. They thought I was in on it. Thought it was because of my family’s history.”

“I’ve told you I’m sorry for that.”

She snorted. “What are you even doing here Jon? You’re a Northern war hero. Captain Jon Snow, almost died in service to the realm, slap a few medals on you, kick you to a desk, you become a WBI agent…now a criminal.” She fixed her violet gaze on him, boring holes through his stormy eyes. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Not well, but that’s because you’re not next to me anymore,” he drawled, tilting back in his chair. That wolf smile returned to his lips. “You have no idea what you’re getting into Dany. You need to be careful.”

“Oh? And what am I getting into?”

“We’re helping people.”

“You’re just hurting them with Mance. The ones who don’t agree with him, he’s hurting them.”

He darted his gaze to the barrels. She followed it quickly, before fighting with the restraints again. It was no use. They weren’t going to budge. “Stay out of the North,” he warned. He smirked again, that annoying look that she wanted to smack. Or kiss. “It’s cold up here for a southern girl.”

This entire thing was purely posturing on his part. Showing her that she was in their territory. She had no authority, despite the badge and gun, and she would lose in a fight with them. _Maybe._ She frowned at the edginess in him. He was shifting more than usual. Arms crossed, uncrossed. Leg up and then down. He tapped his right fingers against his left forearm when his arms were crossed.

And then he pushed his sleeves up and she saw him lightly tracing on the tattoo of a castle, blended in against the weirwood, on the top side of his forearm. She squinted at it, wondering, but then he dropped his hand, turning his face back to hers. She drew her shoulders back, smiling again. "So, are you going to sit and stare at me or will you let me go?"

"How are your children?"

Her nose wrinkled at his casual mention of her cats and she snapped. "They're fine." She growled. "And Ghost?"

"Around, somewhere."

"Guess he doesn't know his master is a traitor."

"Oh, he knows, he just doesn't care." He stood from the chair and strode over, kneeling in front of her, reaching his fingers to lightly brush over her cheek. She turned her head away from him, scowling. He grinned. "I missed you Dany."

"Only my friends call me that."

"And I'm not your friend? I'm hurt." He leaned in and before she knew it, he was kissing her, a hot open-mouthed kiss that sent her toes curling in her boots, her neck bent back from the force. A tiny gasp slipped from her lips before she had a chance to stop it and she growled again—or maybe that was him—trying to bite at his bottom lip, but he gave hers a nice firm nip before he whipped back, too fast for her to try to get him first. He stepped back, away from her as she fought the restraints, pissed as hell.

_And incredibly turned on. Fuck, Dany, get ahold of yourself._

Jon waved his hand. "I'm done with her."

"I'm not done with you!" she shouted. She kicked against the chair, her wrists burning in the tight plastic of the zip-tie at her back. "Get back here Jon! What are you guys planning? You going after the rally! What the fuck is Mance even doing?!"

All she got in return was the slight wave of a hand over his head as he disappeared into the shadows and then the hood was dropped back over her head.

\----------

Tormund and crew dropped her off back at the bar before they peeled off. She hurried back to the inn where she was staying, sending a message to Brienne and another with Davos Seaworth, the head of the North Field Office. Davos was her old boss and she really liked him. He’d been just as hurt as she had when they’d had to arrest Jon. He was one of the good ones, despite his checkered past. They all were, it seemed.

The next morning, she was in his office, irritated that they were also joined by Tyrion Lannister. “You need to be removed from this case,” he announced.

“I just told you that they have barrels and what looks like fertilizer, they’re building bombs!” Dany exclaimed. She ignored Tyrion, looking at Davos with earnestness. He understood this more than she did. She tapped her arm. “Davos, he was nervous. He was signaling.”

“Signaling?” Davos furrowed his brow, sending his already craggy face into a series of shadows. “How so?”

“Tapping his arm.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Tyrion snapped. He shook his head. “You are too personally involved. I am going to request that Director Baratheon remove you. We need information on Mance, not some insane plot you think they’re involved in because you’re upset that your former partner is now involved.”

She continued to ignore him. “Davos, Mance is planning something and Snow is likely not a part of it. Let me try to get another meeting with him. Maybe he’ll talk to me.” She paused. “We will need him on our side if Mance gets arrested. He’ll become the new leader of Free Folk.”

“You’re suggesting organizing a meeting with the deputy of a terrorist organization?” Tyrion snapped. He laughed, looking over at Davos. “She is mad!”

They argued over it, Davos frowning and nodding in understanding when she tried to convey the worry, she felt over whatever message Jon was attempting to send. She wanted his involvement with Free Folk over as much as anyone. If they wanted her off the case, fine. She would leave the North; she’d drop this case faster than anything. She was only here because they wanted her expertise and now it seemed the political elements were getting involved.

If Baratheon wanted to listen to Tyrion Lannister, that was his call. He was so obsessed with getting Mance that he wasn’t going to back down. If they were planning an attack at the rally…she sighed. She got the message from Brienne a few hours after her meeting with Davos and Tyrion.

_Calling you back home. You’re too involved. I knew this was a mistake. You’re back on the Pentos human trafficking case._

It was definitely a case she was more personally invested in, ironically. She was better at these types of investigations than the ones that involved groups like Free Folk. Especially groups that involved her ex-partner. They wanted her judgment on Jon Snow, and they got it. They just didn’t want to hear it.

She gathered her things and stormed out of the office where she’d used to work, where she’d met Jon, and where it all had changed. It was the North and it was too cold. She belonged in the South. Besides, the Northerners made it clear they didn’t want her there anyway. They’d reap what they sowed, she supposed, rolling her eyes at a television screen in the elevator bay, Sansa Stark shouting into a microphone about bringing Northern ideals back to the forefront of their government.

She glanced at her phone, a message buzzing from an Unknown. She frowned, opening it up and stared at the picture. It was of Winterfell, a shot in the godswood underneath the giant weirwood tree, peering up through the red leaves. She ran her fingers over it, turning and twisting, trying to see if there was anything embedded within. "What is it," she murmured, looking at the back, the caption only said it was _Winterfell from the Godswood. Photo Credit: Bran Stark._

_Bran Stark._

"Oh!"

She pushed the elevator button hard, knowing where she had to go.

\----------

The Stark family still maintained residence in a portion of Winterfell, the rest was available to visitors and tours. Dany found herself parking near the entrance, studying the castle from her driver’s seat before she exited her car. It was a beautiful castle. Odd shaped circular turrets and straight ramparts.

They had planned the rally to be in front of the main gate, with its Stark direwolf etched into the worn stone. A perfect backdrop for a Northern nationalist like Sansa Stark. A perfect target for someone like Mance Rayder, who wanted nothing more than to get rid of those people.

Dany swept her gun from the glove compartment and climbed out of the car. She shoved her silver hair-- dead giveaway especially in the glow of the moonlight—beneath a black watchcap and hugged her scarf around her neck for further concealment. She ignored her car, choosing to walk, briskly, down the lane and through the open outer gates of Winterfell. It wasn't too late and there were still evening festivities ongoing, bonfires and music playing, along with one of the restaurants in the keep still open, affording its visitors lovely views of the surrounding moors, covered in snow.

She made her way through the public area and with a couple of glances over her shoulder, ducked under a flimsy velvet rope cordoning off the private grounds. Her feet carried her silently over the hard-packed dirt, until she came to the Broken Tower. It used to be a silo for hay, but now housed a small apartment at the top that you could rent for a certain price. It was closed during the winter-- too cold-- but she could see the door had been left unlocked.

With a smile, Dany moved forward, sliding quietly through the door and began to ascend the spiral stairs to the top. She reached the top floor, finding a few candles lit on the oak desk, nightstands, and small table, two armchairs facing one of the windows looking out at the rest of the castle grounds. There was no fire in the hearth-- smoke would give away someone was there. The curtains had been tugged to block the outside world.

She removed her gun, coat, and accessories, letting her braids fall down over her shoulders. Everything she dropped onto the small table beside the opening of the stairs. She leaned against the railing, waiting. _She was not alone._

The figure sitting in one of the armchairs moved, turning to stand across from her. She smiled, watching the candlelight flicker over his marble skin, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones over his beard and darkening his gray eyes. "Glad you remembered," he husked. His voice rumbled in the quiet, sending her nerve endings on fire.

She smiled, stepping towards him, whispering. "Photo credit Bran Stark. He fell from the Broken Tower." She stood before him, brow wrinkling. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask why he wanted this meeting, but she couldn't get a word out before Jon crushed his mouth against hers again. She moaned, this time prepared for him, arms wrapping tight around his neck, stumbling backwards. His tongue teased at hers, sliding in against hers as she opened further beneath him, hungry. She swallowed his groan, clashing her teeth against his as the kiss became sloppier, more demanding and feral.

Fingers dove through hair; her braids snagged against his hands and he cursed in frustration, crowding her towards the edge of the bed. All she had to do was rip the tie out of his hair and his luscious curls were hers, spilling into her hands as she gripped him, high on her toes as she tried to reach more of him. He let go of her hair, giving up on the braids, and lifted her by the back of her thighs, dropping her unceremoniously onto the bed.

She smiled, long and slow. “I missed you.”

Jon grinned. “Missed you more.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds before he dropped his mouth down to hers, catching her once more in a searing kiss, dropping her back towards the bed.


	2. as wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany reunite; Jon makes his move; Dany takes a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reviews! No plans to extend this fic beyond two chapters. The plot goes pretty nowhere, it's just an excuse to write Jon and Dany secret smut times and playing games with people, etc. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Leave the pain behind and let your life be your own again.** _

_**There is a place where all time is now, and** _

_**t** _ _**he choices are simple and always your own.** _

_**Wolves have no kings.** _

_**-Robin Hobb** _

They tore at each other’s clothes the moment their lips met again. He helped her up just enough to tear off her shirt, lifting off her just enough to help her shake the offending garment off, throwing it aside. He straddled her hips, pinning her into the bed, but they both remained upright as he flicked off her bra, before he filled his hands with her breasts, thumbs brushing roughly over the dusky rose peaks. She whimpered, pressing harder against him, wanting more than his hands.

He let go of her, pushing her onto the bed. She bounced lightly and spread her legs invitingly, leaning back on her elbows, grinning up at him. He returned the smile, tearing off his shirt next. She watched the ring bounce on his chest and her breath caught. "Jon," she barely got out before he was dropping back over her, crushing her into the pillows.

 _Gods_ , she thought, reaching for his wrists, holding onto him for support as she fell deeper off the ledge with him. His hands let go of her, a soft moan of displeasure escaping her lips as the wonderful heat of his mouth left where he'd anchored it against one of her breasts, suckling one nipple while he rolled the other with his opposite hand. When he finished attention on the one, he switched. The sensations of his mouth and his fingers was almost too much and she sobbed out, craving him more. She tugged at his shoulders, wanting to touch him and he let go of her, rising back over her. He curved his fingers back around her face, holding her gently, a fragile object not to be damaged. Their gaze met again, just long enough for her to see the yearning in his eyes and she nodded, understanding.

And then she was filled once more with the sensations of pure _need_. She needed him more than she needed air. It had been so long. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to have his mouth on her, to have her mouth on him, taking and giving and desperately craving the other. It had been longer than months. Practically a year. She thought she would _die._

His mouth trailed over her chest and down her stomach. She whimpered, his tongue diving around her navel and teeth nipping at the skin just beneath it, above the waistband of her jeans. “Jon,” she moaned, her fingers in his hair. “Please.”

She didn’t need to ask. Her jeans were off in one quick sweep and she sobbed as he began to track kisses along the inside of her knee and thighs, alternating each one as his fingers dragged closer and closer… _there._ The sob in the back of her throat caught, her hips arching off the bed when he closed his mouth over her center, the thin cotton of her panties already soaked with want. He teased her, tongue darting around for a moment before he finally ripped at the obtrusive garment.

This was not a time for teasing, and he needed her as much as she needed him and he instantly drank from her, groaning in relief when he finally got his taste. Fingers slipped inside of her easy, first one and then another, stroking her in tandem with his tongue. It didn’t take long, her foot lifting as she arched, twisted, and cried in pleasure and relief, pressing against his shoulder when he brought her to the brink, edged off just enough for her to cry for him to finish, and then he sucked lightly on her clit, her body slamming into the abyss, mouth open in silent scream as she plummeted through, unable to stop.

Blood rushed into her ears and sweat pooled along her throat and the base of her spine. She glanced down at him just for a moment, long enough to see his blown-black stare up at her, still lightly lapping at her release, her over-sensitive body still begging for more, which he began to give her again, but she couldn’t. Not right now. “I need you inside me,” she sobbed, grabbing at his forearms, trying to pull him up, but she felt so boneless.

It was all he needed. He lunged forward over her and she knocked him back hard, ripping off his boxers and her mouthwatering at the prospect. He shook his head. “Nuh-uh, inside you.”

“And you’re making the rules?”

“Now I am.” He pushed her back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under her hips so she was angled up, her heart slamming against its cage, watching the unpredictability of him in action. He gripped her thighs and she helped spread her legs, opening him for her and with a few more laps at her, he jerked her forward and rose up, plunging into her with one stroke.

It had been so long, and she was so tight. She screamed out, body confused at the sensations of pleasure and pain, unable to determine which was which. He bit down on the cord of her throat, stilling as she adjusted. “Gods Dany,” he murmured, almost his turn to sob. “You feel so good.”

“Take me,” she whispered. Full permission to use her. It was beyond time for it. She kissed his temple, fingers lightly dragging at his shoulders, her body already split and ready, slick and swollen for him. She reached her arm backwards, bracing her fingers against the headboard, if he needed any more encouragement.

Thank the gods he didn’t. He groaned, beginning lazy thrusts that weren’t enough. She knew he was holding back. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to seem selfish, but _fuck that._ He made a strangled sound. “Dany.”

She lifted her leg and he slung it over his shoulder, opening her even further. He sat up slightly, knee pressed into the bed for extra leverage, a hand going to one side of her head. He was crowding her, pressing her into the mattress, giving her no room to even breathe, but she needed this. As did he. Lazy thrusts turned harder, faster, and she sobbed for more as he slammed his hips into hers, bottoming out against the back of her. She felt him everywhere. Her skin was on fire, the dragon was rearing out, flames consuming them.

They shared messy kisses, one of her hands on the back of his neck, gripping as he chased his own release. She didn’t need much more, grinding her hips up against him and then it was over for them both, the blackness taking her once more, before she saw nothing but fire, mouth anchoring to him and her fingers gripping the bottom of the headboard as he pounded into her a few more times before it was over for him.

She clutched him, walls clamping around him and holding him inside of her, taking everything, he filled her with, milking every last drop of him. He pushed into her a few more times, weak, before both of their muscles gave out. Her hand dropped from the headboard to his slick back and he sagged onto her.

They were sticky, sweating, and the chill of the stone room causing a chill to shiver through her. Or maybe it was just the aftershocks. Idle kisses dropped over her chest, neck, and face. She tried to reach him but could hardly move. Her fingertips danced through his curls. She smiled, long and lazy. Thoroughly loved, happiness curling her toes into the soft blankets beneath her.

She knew they had to clean up, but right now she wanted to stay here. Just for a bit longer, feeling him stuck against her and the results of their lovemaking seeping from her body and reminding her that she was finally with him and it wasn’t just a dream. “I love you,” he sighed into her silver curls, spilled out like spun silk against the sheets.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. “I love you too.”

\----------

"Remember when I gave you this?"

She burrowed against him, seeking warmth against the chill of the room. The draft from the windows brushed over her still damp skin, chilling her further. Even her dragon blood wasn't enough in this climate, and she sought more of him. She watched as he twirled the sapphire ring on his finger, still connected to her neck via the chain. "Of course," she whispered, kissing over his heart, where his ring was resting. She ran her fingers along the dragon tattoo. "Can't live without me, huh?"

"Never." He curved his fingers over her hip, beneath the blankets, and danced them along the curve, before he dragged them up to the soft skin just beneath her left breast, atop the rib that cradled her heart the closest. There, inked where she could still keep it covered with a thick band of a bra or swimsuit, was the outline of a wolf's head. His hand stilled, before covering it completely, sending the warmth from his palm through her skin straight to her heart.

It swelled in her throat and she lifted her face, accepting the gentle kiss he dropped to her lips. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to face the reality that was before them. They could hide in the tower for only so long, before he went back to his world and she went back to hers. She kept her fingers on his chest, dragging aimless patterns. It reminded her of his tapping on his arm from earlier. "You're nervous," she announced. She sat up, half straddling him, her legs still tangled in his and her body pressed against his chest.

He stared at her for just a moment before he returned his gaze to the open-beam ceiling. "Not nervous."

"Yes, you are. What's going on Jon?"

After a quiet moment, his dual natures warring within him, he sighed and spoke. "Mance is not happy with the way things are going. He lost a lot in that raid last month. Stannis going on TV really pissed him off too." He glanced at her. "Called me down to cull the troops."

"Spot the informants."

"Hmm."

"My sources tell me that he's making a move at the rally." She paused, her voice a whisper. "Jon if he's going to do something, you have to tell me."

He let out a frustrated groan, scrubbing his face with his hands before he lurched forward, glancing over his shoulder at her, now sitting up behind him. "I don't know what he's doing, he's locked me out too."

Her heart raced at the implications. "Jon, we have to get you out..."

"I can't," he snapped. He threw back the sheets and blankets, grabbing for his jeans and shoving them on angrily. His belt buckle clinked as he moved, prowling the edges of the tower room as he tugged on his shirt and began to dress.

That was her cue, she supposed, picking her bra from the floor and dressing in silence. She was angry. Angry it had to end like this, angry it had to even _be_ like this. Angry that this was the stupid fucker she'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Classic cliché, male and female partners fall in love. Ugh, she hated herself for it sometimes. She smirked. _Male partner goes rogue, so to speak._

Once they were both fully clothed, she glanced at the rumpled bed, gesturing with her hand. "And how are you going to explain this?"

"Teenagers," he said with a shrug. He reached for his gun, checking it out of habit before he slipped it into the waistband of his jeans and covered it with his black bomber jacket. He flicked the collar up and tied back his hair, turning to study her. His sad gray eyes filled with apology. _It has to be done._ She leaned in for him and pressed her palms to his chest as he cupped her face again, kissing her one more time.

She tilted her head slightly as he poured himself into it, apologizing and wishing and remembering. Her lips soft beneath his, she accepted it, and gave what she could, what he would let her. This was him though, never able to speak his feelings out loud very well, so he showed her in all the ways he could. She fell back to her feet when he finally tore himself away, a soft sound caught in his throat. Maybe it was a sob, she couldn't be sure. She lightly stroked his face, her fingers dropping to touch his lips, silencing him with a light push and a shake of her head.

He nodded. They never said goodbye. "I'll give you ten minutes," he said.

"Okay." She waited another beat. "Jon."

He turned, on the third step heading down, hand on the railing. "Yeah?"

Dany let herself memorize his face. The scar that crossed over his left eye, the other that curved around his right. The furrow in his forehead from brooding too much and the quirk of his lips as he waited for her to speak. She hesitated and then cleared her throat. "Be safe."

A rogue smile flashed quickly. "Always."

And then he was gone.

\----------

Dany might have been removed from the case, but she wasn't going away that easy. She was absolutely infuriated when they called Slynt and Thorne up from Kings Landing to follow-through on her investigation. They were rabid anti-wildling and their biases affected their work. If they actually could do real work. She had no idea what was stuffed between their ears, but it wasn't brains. At least Thorne could think, he just didn't know when to stop some of his bullying. He'd been in the North Field Office with Jon and had been against him from the beginning.

She lurked around the rally, pushing through people and watching the setup. Tyrion wanted her off the case, Stannis was blinded by his hatred of Mance Rayder, and Brienne was just following orders from above. Davos was the only one who did what was right. She approached him, standing near one of the security tents. "You think this is going to be just a rally?" she asked. She stepped in front of him when he tried to move. "Davos, Mance is going to do something."

"It's under control," Davos said. He tugged her arm, leading her away and around to a quiet, empty spot on the other side of the tents. His hazel eyes were earnest, demanding trust. "Please Daenerys."

_Not Agent Targaryen._

She stared at him for another moment and glanced over to the dais, with its giant 'Stark 2020' banner draped over. She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Alright." She caught sight of a flash of someone in the crowd, nodding quickly to Davos and hurrying away. The bit of silver had been all she needed, a signal from a Needle.

They met up in a crowd of people standing in line for hot cider, jostling for a spot in line. It looked like two people just casually speaking. Arya pressed something against her, brushing by her. The flash drive dropped into her pocket with a light tug. The young woman's words were fast. "Everything you need is there. He's making his move."

"Who?" she murmured.

Arya's gray eyes met hers, filled with slight fear. "You know Tyrion wants my sister to win, right? That's why he wants you off this case. He _wants_ something. It'll divide everyone against Mance, more towards her."

 _Fuck._ "I thought there was something there."

"He helped her out after that whole Bolton thing." _When the Boltons took over the North from the Starks a few years back, when they had a hand in assassinating Robb Stark. It had been nasty._ She remembered. "She's clueless about some of this shit, you know that. anyway...I have to go. Just...don't trust everything you hear, okay?"

Before she had a chance to ask what that was supposed to mean, the Needle had flashed away into the crowd, disappearing. She closed her mouth and wrapped her fingers around the USB drive. She pushed away and ran back to the tent, jamming elbows and kicking people in her way. "Davos!" she shouted.

"The fuck you doing here?" Slynt sneered.

"My fucking job."

Thorne cut her off as she tried to reach Davos. He nudged her back. "We're working, out."

It was then she caught sight of the tactical team moving in, on a monitor behind Slynt's back. She saw another, where Jon was leaning out of a van, Mance standing beside him, the barrels in the back. Her blood went cold. "No, you have to listen to me!"

"No, we don't."

The USB drive in her hand, she used her fist to knock Slynt down. He was already weak from where she'd stomped on him a few days before and groaned. She stepped over him, knocking Thorne away, just in time to get through to Davos, but her eyes widened as she saw on the monitors, the team moving fast. Thorne shouted at Slynt that they had him, they were finally going to get that "Snow fucker" and he ran out of the tent as well.

She watched, horrified, the evidence against Mance in her hand as he set off the truck, just in time to see the team take down Jon. Mance was gone in a ball of flames, the detonation clearly set to not cause as much damage as she probably had anticipated from the size of the barrels. Except where was Jon?

Davos pushed her away from the scene, but she couldn't. She shoved the drive in his hand, rushing out, her mind blank as she fought against people shouting and screaming, running from the sound of the explosion and the ball of flames and clouds. At one point she felt Tormund grab her, try to push her away, but she couldn't. She had to see.

_I have to see him._

Except she couldn't; because all she could see before Tormund dragged her away was the sight of Slynt and Thorne, Jon being dragged back by Slynt as Thorne removed a knife from his gut. Another officer grabbed them away as she watched Jon fall to the ground, eyes closed, and then there was a swarm of people, covering the scene and she couldn't see him anymore.

The sound she made howled from her. _It wasn't supposed to happen like this!_

"Come on Dragon Queen, it's okay, he's going to be fine, come on."

Except it was too late for Tormund and she was being wrestled from him, Davos pulling her away as the remaining Free Folk members were arrested. She stared at Stannis, who seemed pleased with himself, watching from afar. She growled at Davos. "Let me go."

"Come on Daenerys. Let's get you home."

"I have to see him!"

"He's gone."

Those were the last words she heard before her eyes closed and she drifted off.

\----------

"For excellence in her source network, handling, and successfully obtaining evidence that resulted in the prosecution of numerous members of the organization Free Folk, we bestow the award for Meritorious Service to the Realm on Agent Daenerys Targaryen," Brienne announced, looking up from the podium and smiling warmly over to her.

Dany walked up to take the award, a medal that was set in a velvet lined box, along with a plaque she supposed she could hang in her nonexistent office. She shook Stannis's hand, glowering at him the entire time. They were giving her this because she refused to back down on filing claims all the way up to the damn Prime Minister Bobby B himself about the interference of Tyrion Lannister in the investigation, Stannis's bloodlust for Mance which resulted in the other's death rather than prosecution, and the unprofessional conduct of Slynt and Thorne. The idiots were captured on camera driving a knife into Jon's gut. They would be dealt with.

The Dragon had also visited them both. Slynt wouldn't be fathering children anytime soon and Thorne was walking with a limp he refused to explain.

She posed with Stannis and stepped away, meeting Brienne's gaze as she approached her to shake her hand. Her boss leaned in, quiet. "I am sorry for how this occurred, I really am." She knew Brienne of all people was disturbed by the politicking and back alley deals that had occurred. The woman was an oath-keeper and follower to a fault.

"You did what you could," Dany said. She went back down to the front row, taking her seat beside Davos for the remainder of the award ceremony.

\----------

"Daenerys, I think you'll need to be in for this conversation."

She looked up from where she'd placed her award in a drawer in her desk, as Davos walked by her. "Oh?"

Her mentor, a longtime agent who had helped her more times than she could count, Jorah Mormont, walked over from the bullpen's coffee pot, handing her the mug he'd made up for her. "Everything alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, sipping the coffee. it was terrible, just the way she enjoyed it. She sighed, setting it down. She hoped this was the last time she had to meet with Stannis. "I'll be there."

Jorah glanced at her, concerned. "This has been a hard couple weeks, are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine, thank you." She squeezed his forearm, reassuring. The movement caused the ring on her left hand to glint, startling him. He blinked, frowning at it in question. She looked to the diamond and sapphire set, smiling briefly. "Oh...I thought it was probably the appropriate time to start wearing it again." _Finally._

"Anyone I know?" Jorah teased. The disappointment was clear. He'd always had a bit of a crush on her, she knew.

She smiled, lifting her tote bag up and walking towards Davos, who was waiting with Brienne and Podrick. "You might."

\----------

"You have got to be kidding me!" Stannis roared, fuming in a way that no one had ever seen the normally dour, sullen man react. He was shouting, his Stormlands nature emerging through the veneer of control. He flung the file down onto the desk. "You have been running this operation without notifying me this entire time!"

To his credit, Davos did not flinch. His wiry mustache merely twitched, his nature still jovial. "Well sir we were concerned regarding the heightened political climate."

"You have been running a double agent operation for the last five years and not bothered to brief it to the highest levels of command in this government!"

"Sir we notified you of the double agent operation, just not the participants."

Stannis shot her a look, teeth grit. "And you were involved?"

"No sir," she replied. She was downright _fucking_ giddy. She took a deep breath. "I was only involved to the awareness that Jon Snow was a double agent, but not the particulars of his assignment, nor his communication with command, and nor his plans." _As bothersome as that was._

Davos continued. "We needed Agent Targaryen to be aware that he would be going undercover, but that was it." He took a deep breath. "Jon Snow went in deep cover with Free Folk at the beginning of Mance's leadership, for the purpose of obtaining information on their plans with respect to weapons smuggling beyond Westeros into Essos. It became clear we would need to extend his time. It also became clear that they began to respect him, to treat him as one of their own, and we operated under the belief that Snow could actually take over command of Free Folk, in which case we would be able to disband the organization from within." He shot a dark look to Stannis. "Without bloodshed."

"Well you failed there," Stannis growled.

"We failed in that Mance began to get suspicious of Snow of late and we knew we had to bring him out. This rally ended up being the time, because it was going to be bigger than they had initially planned, but thanks to Jon, he was able to get some of his loyal Free Folk members to change out the explosive charges so that it would not harm anyone." Davis sighed. "Except Mance it seems."

Stannis hissed. "And Jon Snow is now dead. So, your operation might have been a success, but he's gone."

Her heart clenched. "He's not dead," she muttered.

"I saw the knives go in from those rogue members of your team Ser Brienne."

Brienne sighed. "Yes, Slynt and Thorne have been dealt with accordingly."

"There will be consequences of this. I should have been aware."

"With all due respect sir, Jon Snow succeeded as well as he did because no one was aware." Davos shrugged. "It also helped that he probably did share a lot of the same ideals as them. Either way, he's going on an extended absence from WBI."

"Because he's dead!"

"Well that's to be debated."

Stannis immediately went blank. His voice a whisper. "What?"

Dany simply smiled, waiting for them to finish shouting it out over the operation. She left with Brienne, stopping before they got back to their office, taking a deep breath and speaking quietly. "I'd like to take a leave of absence, if you please."

Brienne nodded. "Of course. This has been quite stressful." She frowned. "How much did you really know about all of this Agent Targaryen? You were close with Snow before he left. Some might even say that you two were an item, if gossip were to be believed."

She fingered the ring on her left hand, still smiling. "We were involved enough."

"Very well. You can take some time. As much as you need. I imagine it will be difficult, knowing this and being unable to share or truly be aware of what was happening." She sighed. "And then he died..."

Dany smiled again. "Oh, he didn't die."

"But we saw the video...the doctors..." Brienne trailed off and frowned, flicking back through her paperwork. She glared over her; blonde brows wrinkled to a point. "What other secrets are there about this Jon Snow character that no one is sharing with me?"

 _Oh so many you have no idea._ "I'll let Davos explain. Thanks Brienne." She turned and hurried off.

She had packing to do.

\----------

When her father lost everything and her brother fled over to Essos to continue his little criminal organization, the government took most everything. She'd grown up overseas anyway, too young to remember what it was like in the Red Keep, the home of the Prime Minister. They'd only managed to hold onto Dragonstone, the massive stone fortress that belonged to her family for over 3000 years. They were practically dynastic, the Targaryen clan.

Viserys lost all claim to his share of Dragonstone when he decided to follow their father's mad criminal footsteps and her brother Rhaegar, who died young of a heart ailment, had left everything to her. She still maintained Dragonstone the castle, but it was now a hotel and museum, testament to the Targaryen history, with dragon skulls on display and the Painted Table of her ancestor Aegon.

There were a series of large estate homes that she'd allowed transformed and she kept one for herself, set far off from the rest, on a cliff overlooking the beach. She drove up to it now, parking her SUV in the spot by the front door and gathered up the large carrier with her three cats. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal all hissed and yowled; they hated car travel. "It's okay my babies, we're home," she cooed.

The home was made of the same black obsidian and stone that populated the island. It was old, vines creeping up one of the sides. More gray stone made up the chimneys on either end and she smiled happily at the red front door. It was still winter and the lemon tree beside it did not yield fruit, but she tapped it regardless. It was the only place she felt like was her real home, this house.

The moment the carrier door flicked open all three cats shot out for their preferred spots. Viserion in the bay window in the dining room, Rhaegal instantly headed upstairs to the guest bedroom's dormer window, and Drogon scratched at her feet before he trotted after her. He was the biggest and the most bonded to her. She scratched his ears once, apologizing for leaving him, and slipped out the kitchen door once she deposited her things.

The waves crashed against the shore and she heard excited yipping sounds, more splashing and laughter. She grinned, following the happiness down the wooden stairs from the cliffside to the rocky, black sand beach. At the base of the steps she knelt, greeted by the massive blur of white that streaked from the shore towards her, dropping the large stick from its mouth. She yelped, laughing as cold water sprayed her when the wolf shook, pink tongue lolling out to lick her.

It had been ages since he'd seen her, and Ghost did not stop his greeting, rubbing against her, jumping to place his paws on her shoulders, and pressing his thick neck against hers in the wolf version of a hug. "Oh, I missed you my big boy," she exclaimed, hugging him even though he was damp and dirty from running in the surf. She kissed his face, his bright red eyes dancing. He finally tore away, turning and running back towards the water, content that she knew how much he missed her.

"Does the wolf get all that or do I get some too?"

The sound she made wasn't even a sob. She ran to him, launching herself into his arms. Jon embraced her, arms wrapping around her so tight she could hardly breathe. Her face buried in his neck, she mumbled something akin to _I love you._ He swayed, spinning her slightly before her feet went back to the ground, his left side wincing. "Oh gods," she whispered, forgetting herself. She immediately went to pull at the edge of his shirt. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, he barely got me."

"Gods Jon I thought you were dead."

He shrugged. "I’m not that easy to kill."

Given that his medical discharge had also been from stabbing, that one almost sending him straight to the morgue and with the scar over his heart to prove it, she was inclined to believe him. She just didn't like it. "Please stop trying to get yourself killed," she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. Her lips rubbed his. "Because I'm getting a little tired of it myself."

"You're getting tired of it?" He grumbled, lifting her back to him, her feet stepping onto his so she could properly reach his mouth. "How do you think I feel? I don't go looking for these situations."

She laughed. "Could have fooled me." Her command left her on a hard exhale. "Kiss me."

And kissed her he did. Wrapped her completely in his arms, lifted her off her feet, and she felt it clear to her soul, this new feeling of freedom. Freedom to be with him, freedom to finally have their _lives_ , and freedom to move on. They had so little time before. So little time to just be Jon and Dany. Before work and other responsibilities and fucking _duty_ won out for them both.

While he kissed her, she ran her hands through his newly shorn hair, marveling at how strange it was not to have anything to truly grab onto. His fingers lifted up her hand, threading through hers and she smiled, unable to stop herself when he squeezed her hand and his thumb ran over her sapphire wedding set. “Remind me to get you a new one,” he murmured against her lips.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Hmm, five years in deep cover, I think I owe you a new ring.”

She giggled. “I did make you a bet that you wouldn’t last five years…”

“And I said if I lost, I’d get a dragon permanently inked on me.”

It was her turn now, running her fingers along the tattooed dragon with violet eyes. “You did.” She pressed her nose to his, nuzzling into him. Her eyelids flickered open and she dragged the wedding band on its chain from under his t-shirt. The ring belonged to his brother. Robb Stark wore it when he and his wife had been killed. It had been a talisman of sorts for him and when they married beneath the weirwood tree, in a godswood Beyond-the-Wall, she’d slipped it onto his hand. It hadn’t been there long, before he took the assignment.

They agreed to it. They made the decision together. It had been hard, but it was _duty._ Duty over love, he’d grown up with it and there was no stopping him. She removed the chain from his neck and broke it, sliding the ring into her palm. They both stared at it for a moment, until she took his left hand, sliding it onto his ring finger. She smiled, linking their fingers again. “Finally,” she whispered.

“Finally,” he agreed.

She took a deep breath. “You coming back to WBI?”

It was too early to discuss such things, but she wanted to ask it. To get it out before it consumed her. He shook his head, smiling and leaned in to kiss her again, whispering against her lips. “I’m looking for a change, even if they did say they’d reinstate me.”

“They’ll have to unscrew Stannis from the ceiling.”

“Let’s just take some time,” he said. He dropped his hands over her shoulders down her arms and skimmed her sides. She shivered, his fingers pressing warmly through her thin shirt and rested on her hips. “I was thinking of a job you know. One you’ll have to help me with, if you’re interested.”

“And what’s that?” She turned, when he motioned for her and pressed herself against his back, her hands coming to hold onto his arm as he wrapped one over her chest and the other over her lower stomach. They swayed for a moment. Ghost ran around them in circles, before darting back into the surf, playing catch with the waves. She felt her arms drift shut. The wind was lovely, albeit a bit cold. It was just so freeing.

And then his hand pressed flat over her abdomen and her eyes sprang open. “Stay at home dad.”

“What?” she blurted, not processing.

He kissed behind her ear. “Stay at home dad. That’s my new career. Just need your help.”

“I think you’ll need a lot of help.”

“Well we can start working on it at least.”

She spun around, giggling and leapt up into his arms again, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her off towards the house. “Working on it sounds like a plan.” She snagged his mouth with hers again. “We can play a game though.”

“What kind of game?”

“This time I’ll be the criminal,” she murmured, biting hard on his lower lip, enough to draw blood and elicit a deep groan from somewhere in his chest. It sparked the fire in her. The want for him. He pulled back, curious for the rest of the game. She giggled and dropped to her feet, pushing at him before backing away fast. “And you be the cop.”

The wolf growl she received in response had her squealing and running off for the house, with him on her heels.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you wish.


End file.
